


Nine Centimetres of Bliss

by Hobbitrocious



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ABDL, CG/L, Drabble Collection, Fetish and Kink, Ficlet Collection, Inappropriate Makeshift Dildos, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Nonsexual Ageplay, Object Insertion, RPS - Freeform, Small Penis, potty training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-10-19 14:49:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10642098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitrocious/pseuds/Hobbitrocious
Summary: Drabbles and ficlets of mostly a kink and fetish nature, all set in Holmesian fandom or related RPF.Chapters are titled with their topic and pairing for easy navigation, because I know the tags section will become a jumbled mess.





	1. Small Penis and Not-Quite Teasing (Johnlock)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if it would be easier on you guys to have an index before the first chapter, listing the keywords and/or an outline associated with each chapter as I update. Or if the titling system works for you. Thanks!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Am I well endowed?"
> 
> "Sorry, princess..."

  
  
  
"And what are you up to today?" John asked without looking up from the news reports on his laptop while Sherlock, in dressing gown and pyjamas, made his slow, meandering way to the sofa.  
  
"Nothing planned except enjoying my nine centimetres of bliss," the detective rumble-purred.  
  
John's immediate reaction, keeping their tendency to unexpected visitors in mind, was, "Don't you think you should go to your bedroo... Oh."  
  
When he finally glanced up, John was thoroughly abashed.  
  
"What," Sherlock huffed around the unlit cigarette in his mouth, "what did you _think_ I meant?"  
  
"Don't know. Nevermind." On the verge of blushing, John buried himself in the news articles again. Or tried to.  
  
Gracefully indignant, Sherlock plucked the cigarette from between his lips to gawp offendedly at his partner.  
  
John made the mistake of peeking up again and was met with full-force glowering.  
  
"Oh, come on, what? You're not supposed to have those in the flat anyway. What was I _supposed_ to think you were talking about?"  
  
Digging in his gown pocket for the lighter, Sherlock spat, "Your visual memory assessment of what it _isn't_ is most telling."  
  
Despite wisely keeping his mouth shut, John couldn't quite mask an expression which said he had a remark he really, _really_ considered irrefutable.  
  
No sooner had Sherlock sat, he saw John's face and whirled right back to standing, in a snit.  
  
"There's no reasonable way this -" Sherlock held his smoke aloft in demonstration, "- is the same size."  
  
John bit his lip and ducked his head almost as if to hide behind his laptop screen.  
  
Sherlock sighed. "Oh, come on. Out with it. You obviously have a comment to make."  
  
Knowing things would end ill either way, whether he refused to air his thoughts or not, John spoke up, "It's just... Sherlock, you know I've seen it. Repeatedly. Often. I think I'm a pretty good judge of how big it is."  
  
_Or isn't_ , he didn't dare to add.  
  
For a minute, Sherlock just stood rooted to the spot, eyes narrowed and looking as though he was mentally reading through an all-inclusive handbook on ways to murder John.  
  
"There's that measuring stick in one of the kitchen drawers," John suggested with no small amount of snark. He scrolled up the news page to find where he'd left off.  
  
Predictably, Sherlock immediately turned and disappeared into the kitchen. John heard a bit of rummaging around, then a drawer shutting far too forcefully not to chip paint, and then a long, suspicious silence.  
  
  
The measuring stick came flying across the living room and hit the wall between the front windows with a harsh, wooden _smack_. John watched it clatter to the floor behind the desk.  
  
He cleared his throat, listened for movement behind him. The flat was eerily quiet.  
  
"Were you measuring flaccid?" the doctor called over his shoulder.  
  
"Shut. up."  
  
John counted it a small victory that the cigarette went temporarily forgotten while Sherlock sulked the remainder of the day away in his room.  
  
He would try to cheer Sherlock up tonight with an especially appreciative worshipping of Sherlock's entire eight point ninety-two centimetres of bliss. Rounded up to nine, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this one did come to me during a smoke. :b


	2. Objects Not Meant for Insertion (Johnlock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demise of the smaller mobile phone Sherlock was using in Series 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working ficlet title: I Was Gonna Use My Phone, But Then I Got High

John snatched up his ringing mobile from the back of the examination room countertop. The caller ID read Mrs. Hudson. Probably she wanted to ask him to pick up a couple items if he planned on shopping on his way home.  
  
"Hi, Mrs. H," John answered cheerfully.  
  
"John?" came the slightly ragged-sounding reply from the other end.  
  
"Sherlock?"  
  
"John, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like you to ring my phone once approximately every two minutes, for the next hour. I won't pick up, but you should let it ring until the voicemail comes on."  
  
"Uh... Okay, I suppose I could do that. Any particular reason? Have you lost your phone?"  
  
Flippantly, the detective muttered, "Kind of, yeah; it's stuck somewhere. Figured I may as well have some fun until it comes out."  
  
"Fun? What, asking me to call a phone you can't pick up constitutes fun now? How does that even keep you entertained. Did you set it to a rude ringtone or something?"  
  
"No, it's set to vibrate."  
  
 _A beat._  
  
"Then why - Wait - is it stuck somewhere _inside your body?_ "  
  
"Oh, very good," there was Sherlock's cheerful-mocking tone usually reserved for Lestrade's team, "you figured that one out quickly!"   
  
" _God_ , Sherlock... They make actual vibrators for that purpose, you know. Ones that won't get stuck where they're not supposed to. You couldn't just pop around the corner and pick one up?!"  
  
"I didn't feel like getting dressed."  
  
John looked heavenward and silently asked, _why me_.


	3. Potty Training, ABDL and CG/L (FreeBatch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to... reasons... it has been surmised that a certain someone is probably prone to holding in his wee a lot longer than is healthy. 
> 
> Obviously, the responsible thing for Martin to do would be to condition that naughty little someone to start actually using the potty when he needs to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RPS warning for this chapter! If you don't like Real Person Slash, don't read this one.
> 
> Don't kill me. I just write the stuff. For entertainment purposes only, pure fiction, never happened (to my knowledge), etc, etc.

  
Martin woke to the bed shaking.  
  
Immensely annoyed and groggy, he lifted his head and squinted along the form lumped under the blankets next to him. He could just make out the source of the movement in the dark.  
  
Benedict, his back turned to Martin, was jiggling one of his legs, rapidly tapping his foot over and over and over and over on the mattress.  
  
Martin sighed, easing up stiffly on his elbows, and huffed, "Are you holding your wee in again?"  
  
The shaking stopped. Martin thought he saw Ben's legs shift in a way that meant he was pressing his thighs together, tightly.  
  
"Mmmm..." the noncommittal noise accompanied a minute shrug. And some telltale squirming.  
  
Martin almost fell asleep again in the stretch of silence that followed, nearly falling back off his elbows. He caught himself as he started to fall, the alarming sensation of loss of balance startling him fully out of his doze.  
  
He patted Benedict's hip.  
  
"Up, baby."  
  
"Mnooo," Benedict whined under his breath. He fidgeted with his foot again, unable to help it.  
  
"Either go in your nappy, or get up and use the potty," Martin ordered him a little more forcefully.  
  
" _MmmmmMMMM_..." this time it was a noise of indecision and frustration.  
  
Martin swatted Ben's rump through the blankets and heard the man's disposable nappy crinkle under the impact. Shoving at his lover's back to try and force him to roll out of bed, he said, "Come on, up, now."  
  
While Ben groaned and slowly slid out of bed, Martin crawled up to the corner on his side and fumbled until he found the bedside lamp.  
  
They both grumbled in discomfort when the bright bulb lit the room.  
  
Benedict was standing with his eyes closed until they adjusted to the light, in just his nappy and a baggy, gray Weta tee shirt bearing an image of Smaug on the right breast, in the same style as the dragon appeared on Bilbo's map. He knuckled some of the sleep crust away from his tear ducts as he finally started blinking and squinting. Meanwhile, Martin stepped into his slippers and came around the bed to wrap an arm around Ben's waist and guide him over to the wall.  
  
"Come on," Martin prompted.  
  
Benedict just stood pouting down at him, swaying slightly on his feet.  
  
Martin sighed again, a heaving, exasperated one this time.  
  
"Alright, you're Little still, are you?" he guessed.  
  
Benedict answered with a timid nod, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.  
  
Martin nodded back. "Thought so. It's okay, my baby. Daddy'll help you."  
  
He reached down and carefully peeled the sticky tabs on either side of the nappy open, and pulled the thing out from between Benedict's legs. He took a couple steps toward the bed and leaned close to the light to check if the nappy was dry.  
  
Not quite; there was a dribbly dot of yellow inside.  
  
Balling it up tightly and stuffing it in the small bedroom trash bin, he remarked, "Looks like you were holding it for a long time. Again. Love, you know you're not supposed to. Why didn't you wake me up sooner to use the potty?"  
  
"Dunno," Benedict whispered guiltily, staring at the carpet, before popping his thumb in his mouth for comfort. He knew Daddy wasn't _too_ cross with him, but he also knew he hadn't done a good job of obeying Daddy.  
  
Martin took Benedict by the shoulder and pushed him down until his bare bottom met the cushy potty training seat they'd secured to a small, white bucket. The seat was meant to go on top of a real toilet, but they'd wanted something for close-by in the bedroom to make things easier in the middle of the night. The seat had images of rocking horses on it and fulfilled the need for something cute and appealing, while the sturdy bucket provided the function that purpose-made toddler training potties couldn't do while supporting Benedict's adult weight.  
  
It was Martin's hand that tucked Benedict's wee-wee behind the pee shield. Ben wiggled his bum happily, smiling softly with gratitude for how the extra gesture of care reinforced his Little headspace.  
  
"Don't fall off," Martin chuckled. He stood close and petted Benedict's pillow-mussed hair while they waited.  
  
The tinkling started very soon, Benedict's overfull bladder spasming a couple times as he relieved himself in a loud, steady stream. When it was eventually over, Benedict peered up at Martin expectantly.  
  
"Are we all done?" Martin, Daddy, asked.  
  
Ben took his thumb out of his mouth and nodded proudly, "Mm-hm!"  
  
"All right!"  
  
Martin clapped for him approvingly, Benedict joining in with a few clumsy, childlike claps of his own.  
  
"Good boy," Martin stood back to let him up, and grabbed a baby wipe to clean him off with. Then, he encouraged his Little one, "Go put a sticker on your chart!"  
  
Ben bounced over to the wall chart next to the potty that had his name on it, and picked up a partially used-up sheet of stickers. This first time around, they were filling up _Benny's Potty Chart_ with stickers themed as vehicles and road signs.  
  
"O-kayyy, fresh nappy..." Martin muttered to himself while laying out said nappy on the bed and dusting it with powder.  
  
Ben chose a red dragster and, tongue stuck out in concentration, affixed it to an empty square. He hung the sticker page back on its push-pin and admired his work, cooing quietly, "Thsticker!" He clapped once and did an excited little dance, his exposed bits waving about under the hem of his nightshirt.  
  
"Very good, baby. Now come over here."  
  
Daddy gently pushed Benedict to lie down on the bed and snugged him into the clean nappy. He shook out the rumpled blankets and tucked him in, then went around to his side of the bed and toed off his slippers.  
  
Martin was quite happy to be under the covers and in the calm dark again.  
  
The two snuggled up to each other and lied together silently. As the time stretched whilst they waited for the night to reclaim them in sleep, a few occasional growls and grumbles could be heard from Benedict's gut settling.  
  
Martin swore he was almost, almost asleep when he heard a tiny voice plea to him sheepishly,  
  
"Daddy? Um... Need to go poopie."  
  
It was Martin's turn to let out a wordless, frustrated noise.  
  
They'd definitely have to go all the way to the big boy potty for that one.


End file.
